


We'll meet again

by Moonstruckidiot



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: #ItsStillBeautiful, Angst (a bit), Confused Will, First Meeting, Fluff, Hannibal Knows, Hannibal Loves Will, Hannibal is Hannibal, Hannibal is a killer (hinted at), Hannibal is an artist, Hannibal is patient he needs to be, M/M, No Sex, Reincarnation AU, Will POV, Will and Hannibal are both 34, Will is Will, a short one shot, dont worry, lots of mentions of the sea, major character deaths, no violence, recluse Will, romantic (sort of), socially akward Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 05:14:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7702126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonstruckidiot/pseuds/Moonstruckidiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham died in each others arms after falling from a cliff into the Atlantic ocean; their bodies were lost to the sea.</p>
<p>37years later....<br/>Will walks into the art gallery of artist ‘Hannibal,’ both men discover a mutual interest in the sea.<br/>Or<br/>Hannibal knows he is the reincarnation of Hannibal Lecter and he has been waiting for ‘his’ Will to come into his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll meet again

**Author's Note:**

> "We’ll meet again  
> Don’t know where  
> Don’t know when  
> But I know we’ll meet again  
> Some sunny day"
> 
> Just a short fic about their first meeting after their reincarnation, it popped into my head when I thought about writing something for itsstillbeautiful...no beta  
> I thought in 37 years time things would be different but also the same, but I'm not HG Wells and I didn't want to start making up technological advances etc. The characters are pretty much the same, Will wears glasses, altho maybe in 37 years everyone will have their eyes lasered or maybe not, who knows. Hannibal as an artist uses traditional paint etc rather than digital or more technological based methods, as I felt he'd enjoy a more hands on approach, getting splattered in paint/blood.

Prologue:

Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham died in each others arms after falling from a cliff into the Atlantic ocean; their bodies were lost to the sea. The FBI kept the case open for several years, but with no patterns emerging amongst murders nor in the specific tastes for fine living Lecter was known to enjoy it was eventually agreed that after killing the Dragon, for reasons unknown, the two men went willingly to their deaths.

Not wanting to mythologise Lecter and Graham the FBI never released the exact circumstances of their final hours. Tattle Crime did pay tribute to the murder husbands, and mourned the boost they gave to their readership, but they soon found other fodder to fill the nation’s insatiable appetite for the glamour and gore of crime.

Jack, Alana, and others entangled in the web Lecter spun, slept safe in their beds and, despite expectations to the contrary, grew old.

 

...... 37 years later.....

 

Pulling on the handle of a door too heavy to be easily swung open Will finds himself looking into the cavernous space of an art gallery. From somewhere to his right he hears, “good afternoon,” he turns in the direction of the voice dipping his head in acknowledgement. A tall, well dressed man stops what he is doing and watches intently, like a predator assessing prey, _probably deciding if I have the money to buy art_ , or, thinks Will laughing to himself, _if I’m homeless and looking for shelter._ Scanning his surroundings he realises he is the only other person in the room, he feels self conscious but its too late to leave now, he’s been spotted.  Picked simply because it is in his line of sight, Will fixes his eyes in front of him and heads towards a painting on the other side of the room. His footsteps echo on the wooden floor, amplified by his own awareness, they seem to bounce off every wall. He’ll stand in front of a few paintings, see if anything looks suitable for his needs, and if not quickly make his way out.

Conscious of eyes tracing the contours of his back, his neck, his hair Will feels sweat start to prickle under his shirt collar and arm pits. Only after several minutes have passed and he is, thankfully, still  undisturbed does he roll his neck in an effort to relax; this is not the sort of place he normally visits.

Allowing a long, drawn out breath to escape, he opens his sight to the room and Will finds himself surrounded by bodies, they are painted the old fashioned way with oils, canvas and brush. Some recline in traditional nude poses, others appear to writhe beneath a lover [ _the artist?]_ in ecstasy. Looking closer Will is not so sure it isn’t agony, the subtly is there. Unconsciously his fingers reach out to touch, its not the nakedness of the models which lures him, he is too uncomfortable in his own skin to find much enjoyment touching another warm with life or not. It is the texture and layers, and the blood, he’s sure there is blood. The room feels too crowded, bodies wanting to speak, to be understood but Will closes himself off, they are art not the dead after all.

Entering a smaller room he is filled with a sense of light and peace, not from the artificial lighting illuminating the area but from the paintings themselves. It emerges from the ocean depth reaching out into the world, like, like... Will reaches for a thought, a feeling, it’s there at the back of his mind but he can’t quite grasp it.

“I find the ocean comforting,”

Will startles, lost in his own thoughts he hadn’t sensed the man come up behind him.

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”  

Will feels the familiar blossoming of anxiety, he’s too used to being alone, sometimes he spends days or weeks without hearing anything but his own voice, right here and now he feels embarrassed at how out of practice at conversation he is. Seemingly unconcerned by a lack of response the man continues on, “I’m Hannibal, and you are?”

That is easy enough to answer, “Huh, yeah I’m Will,” he coughs clearing his throat and he manages to gasp out, “You’re Hannibal.”

“Yes, its a nickname from my college days, it stuck.”

“You like elephants or something?” asks Will straight-faced, its a fair enough question.

“Something,” replies Hannibal, his mouth curling up in what looks to be amusement. Will nods, not sure how to respond he takes off his glasses and rubs them against the sleeve of his shirt, it gives him a moment to collect himself.

Pushing the frames back on his nose he asks, “you the, err, artist?” Will glances quickly up angling his gaze just to the side of Hannibal’s left cheekbone. _Oh shit,_ he thinks, _he’s going to want to talk about art_.

“Yes. Are you called to the sea Will?”

“I, well, not so much called, no, I,” Hannibal smiles, its a thin smile but it’s lit by his eyes. Will usually avoids the windows to the soul but he is drawn in by these dark amber ones, he feels inexplicably calmer, “I have bad dreams of the sea.” Will isn’t sure why he confides this, it could be the quiet intimacy of the space they inhabit, the solid, comforting aura Hannibal gives off or, an urge to bond with the first human he’s talked to in weeks. Whatever it is he feels unsettled and turning Will walks in a diagonal line away from Hannibal putting several feet between them.

Remaining where he is, body relaxed in contrast to Will’s tightly wound posture Hannibal says, “I often dream of the sea,” smiling fondly he adds, “it is when I am most at peace, I find a contentment I otherwise lack.”

“That’s...err... good,” responds Will, a little jealous someone can feel that way.

“You don’t feel the same I presume.”

Will shakes his head, _no, no_ and moves towards the room’s exit. He’s not doing this, engaging in self disclosure to create a (false) sense of commonality with a stranger, he’s not that much in need of acceptance, at least not today.

Even though Will does not look directly at Hannibal he can feel the artist’s eyes on him, watching, no, maybe devouring is more appropriate, his every movement. It’s unnerving and, to Will’s own disbelief, also vaguely arousing. The next sentence, almost breathed in his ear as he passes Hannibal, stops Will in his mental and physical tracks, “Would you do me the honour of sitting for me?”

_God, no_. Remembering the naked, writhing bodies next door Will feels the warmth of a blush rise up from his chest to his neck. The floor looks very interesting.

Hannibal’s good natured laugh ricochets around the room, “I want to paint your smile in the early morning light, you can keep your clothes on,” looking appreciatively at Will he adds, “if you want.”

“Oh,” _Fuuuuck,_ Will can’t remember the last time someone flirted with him. Caught somewhere between out right panic and confused interest, he’s not sure what to do. He opens his mouth and just lets the words out, “I, err, don’t live in Baltimore, I’m visiting my cousin, it’s the reason I came in here,” now he’s found his voice the words just keep coming, “I forgot to get him something for his new place, but I don’t think...I mean your stuff is good, err, great, but its not quite his taste and I don’t know, maybe...”

“Do you have an image of your cousin?” asks Hannibal.

“Yeah,” replies Will crinkling his brow.

“Can I see?”

Hannibal’s eyes flick from the image of Adam to Will, “Come this way.”

Following behind Hannibal Will glances at art lining the walls and suspended from the ceiling, in his hurry to make a quick exit he’d not taken everything in, but he should have, it looks worth the time. He is led up a flight of stairs, and it is only when he is at the top that he realises he’s in a living area, one of the first things he notices is a large bed proudly displayed against the back wall.

Turning Will starts to descend the stairs, every step is coordinated with _fuck, what a stupid fuck,_  “I think, I should go” he says. “Did I give you the wrong impression, I’m not...”

“I’m sorry Will,” says Hannibal looking over the railing, “I’m not explaining myself well, the light up here is better and we’re away from  passers by...”

“I don’t understand,” says Will halting his descent, looking up but not directly at Hannibal.

Lifting a paper sketchpad and pencils Hannibal says, “I thought I’d give you the gift you need for your cousin.”

“I still don’t...”

“Come back up, and take a seat by the window, everything will be okay I promise.”

Will exhales lightly, allows himself to take Hannibal in and he sees the truth of the words. He sits, rubbing his neck and tapping his feet, he looks around the room anywhere but at the artist and what he is drawing. Pulled back by blue dabbled paint Will strains his eyes to get a better look at the only painting in the room, it’s by the bed, too far away to see clearly.  After what seems like hours but is no time at all, the pencil is put down.

“One more thing,“ says Hannibal as he walks towards some shelving.

Dismounting from the chair Will idles over to the painting which caught his interest. Two figures are entwined in the sea, one bears Hannibal’s well defined features, the other is obscured only a faint impression like the remains of a dream in the morning light.

“The love of my life,” Will hears as Hannibal comes to stand by his side.

Will flicks his eyes up to meet Hannibal’s and just as quickly moves them away, “It’s beautiful,” he says. “From your dream?”

Hannibal hums a response and smiling holds out a picture frame, “Hopefully your cousin will like your gift.”

As the drawing is handed over skin grazes skin, the shock, imperceptible except for a flicker of eye lids, runs through Will’s veins his body pulsing with so much life its almost painful and he doesn’t think he can bear it. Breathing deeply in he closes his eyes and slowly lets it out, he feels his composure return but he’s unable to relax his grip on the wooden picture frame.

The two cousins look out at the world arms around each other’s shoulders. One the reverse of the other, one wild, unkempt and haunted, the other tame, neat and innocent. These are just minor details, almost unnoticeable, the whole is of a familial bond and yes, Will thinks, Adam will like it very much.

“Will you allow me to paint you?” asks Hannibal, his voice hushed.

Will appreciates the drawing, its a nice thing Hannibal has done for him and that in itself is a rare enough experience. The gesture though doesn’t elicit the same sense of obligation it might do in others but Will’s pretty sure Hannibal would be disappointed if it did. His focus returns to the painting, eyes tracing over the faint image, he swallows slowly. Besides him, with all the appearance of calm acceptance, stands the artist, what is beneath though is a whole other story. Hannibal’s want is almost overwhelming as, surprisingly, is Will’s own longing.

“I don’t know,” says Will running his hand through his hair, nails tempted to scratch deep to root out feelings, such unkind things, “I’m...”

“Why don’t you call back in after you’ve seen your cousin and we can arrange something.”

Will’s smile is a fleeting thing, awkward in that out of practice sort of way, then with a quick nod he is gone.

Somewhere deep inside, at the sub atomic level or maybe even his soul, he feels the call of the sea and they both know he’ll return.

_The end_

**Author's Note:**

> And because I just can’t help myself here are some backstory notes.......  
> Hannibal, the artist, had a happy and safe childhood with wealthy parents, he is their only child. He knows he is Hannibal Lecter reincarnated and has the same urges/desires/dislikes. Physically he is identical to HL but without the scars.  
> He gave himself the ‘nickname’ Hannibal, it was not his friends (what friends?) at college.  
> He is a successful artist and surgeon but not a psychiatrist.  
> In addition to his substantial earnings as an artist and surgeon Hannibal also inherited many millions from his Grandma.  
> He acquired the land on which the cliff house stands, he also bought out the former owners of Will Graham’s Wolftrap home.  
> He has extensively researched Will Graham and has been waiting for ‘his’ Will.  
> Will was a much loved only child, both parents (they were happily married) died when he was 24. Physically he is identical to WG but without the scars, he does have one birthmark though.  
> Will has an empathy disorder, he has never had encephalitis, he does however have issues with sleep. He is extremely isolated more so (as he works from home) than in his previous life.  
> He and Adam meet up two to three times a year.  
> When Will wandered in Hannibal was putting the finishing touches to the opening night for his new gallery.  
> Will is oblivious.  
> ...  
> As I was writing this fic I had a sense that the extreme nature of their past lives, and deaths, scorched itself into their souls. After they were reborn both Hannibal and Will retain images/impressions of the final moments of their previous existence (Hannibal has been able to retrieved more). Of those last moments Hannibal has a sense of great love and completion, Will feels deep regret and of being torn apart, he experiences psychosomatic pain (related to touch).  
> ...  
> Title is homage to Vera Lynn’s “We’ll meet again,” – I sort of felt it appropriate particularly from Hannibal’s POV as he waits for his love


End file.
